


The Fall of Icarus

by EmieB123



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmieB123/pseuds/EmieB123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been three years. Three years of silence. Three years of drinking and smoking and trying to forget. It’s been three years since the fight, since he left, and he’s looked back plenty of times but somehow convinced his feet to turn away.</p><p>It’s been three years and the last thing he expects to find when he opens the door at three am is Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fall of Icarus

**Author's Note:**

> There is supposed to be italics in here but it won't transfer and I gave up on trying a long time ago so if something sounds like it should be italicized it probably is archive just doesn't like me

“Is all this really worth it? Worth you getting hurt, worth you dying? They won’t even notice when you’re gone. They’ll step over your corpse like it’s nothing and erase your name from the history books so that all that remains of your precious revolution is your bodies rotting in the ground under nameless graves.”

“But if we succeed-“

“It’s not about you succeeding, Apollo! I have no doubt you’ll succeed time and time again and leave us all in the dust of your triumph. But when you fail, and you will fail because there’s only so much good you can do before your luck turns and you fly to close to the sun and fall burning into the depths of mortality. When you fail I’ll be here, waiting, because it’s going to destroy you.”

“Why would I go to you?” 

“Because I know what it’s like to be destroyed by the thing you love.”

***

It’s been three years. Three years of silence. Three years of drinking and smoking and trying to forget. It’s been three years since the fight, since he left, and he’s looked back plenty of times but somehow convinced his feet to turn away.

It’s been three years and he’s lost contact with everyone. He knows they tried, but he knows how to push people so far they’ll never return. He still gets the rogue text from Courfeyrac or Joly asking if he wants to get a drink sometime. He lets them know he’s still alive and not dead in a gutter somewhere but that’s as much contact he allows himself. He knows if he gets any closer it’ll eventually lead back to him. 

It’s been three years and the only person he still sees regularly is Eponine, but even she is drifting away and Grantaire can’t find it in himself to try and hold her back so he watches her leave and tells himself it’s for the best. He drinks himself into oblivion at night and tries to lose himself in his work but nothing looks right since he turned his back on his muse.

It’s been three years and the last thing he expects to find when he opens the door at three am is Enjolras.

His face is red and there are dark circles under his eyes. The marble leader cracked and breaking.

Grantaire doesn’t say anything, simply opens his door and lets him in. 

Enjolras is silent as he curls up on the faded couch, eyes staring at the wall, dull and unseeing. Grantaire doesn’t ask, just makes coffee the way he remembers Enjolras likes it. Enjolras barely touches it, cradling the mug in his hands as if soaking in the warmth. 

He’s shivering, so Grantaire covers him with a blanket and doesn’t protest when Enjolras makes a broken sound and pulls him down next to him, hiding his face so Grantaire can’t see the tears streaming down it, burning as they fall. 

Grantaire doesn’t move until he’s asleep against his side, clutching his arm as if scared he’d run off like last time. Careful not to disturb him, Grantaire pulls out his phone and calls Combeferre, praying he still had the same number.

He barely waits for the sleep muddled hello before asking. “What happened?”

“Grantaire? Oh god, is he with you?” Combeferre caught on quickly. “How is he?”

“Fucking horrible.” Grantaire snapped. “What did he do?”

“You don’t know? It’s been all over the news.”

“I don’t watch the news anymore.” He couldn’t. There was always a new story or update on Les Amis, or their golden martyr.

Combeferre took a deep breath, and Grantaire could almost see him adjusting his glasses, straightening up the way he did before a serious conversation. “You know the fighting that’s been going on in Armenia?” Grantaire didn’t but made a noise of agreement. There was always fighting somewhere, where didn’t really matter anymore. “Well Enjolras decided to go in without any backup and play the hero.” Of course he did. “He managed to get in before they closed the border and it all went to hell. The violence escalated and we lost contact for a while-“

“Combeferre,” Grantaire said patiently, “I really do not give a fuck what happened except the reason he’s currently passed out on my couch looking like he hasn’t slept in a week.”

There was a long pause. “The military started moving on civilians. The death toll was in the thousands. There was this one school . . . he was trying to evacuate before the soldiers arrived, but he was too late. He saved half the school, but the rest . . . just the pictures, R.” Combeferre’s voice broke. “The bodies- I can’t imagine what it was like being there.”

“Shit.” Grantaire breathed, looking at Enjolras huddled under the blanket.

“That was almost a month ago. Nobody’s seen him since.”

Grantaire could tell he was trying not to ask and it was probably killing him. “I can watch him. Physically he looks okay, just a bit worn down.” He said nothing of the bruises coloring his skin or the way he could feel his ribs through his shirt when he shifted. Enjolras had always been on the lean side but now he looked starved. 

“If you need anything-“

“Yeah, yeah. And I’ll keep you updated. Thanks ‘Ferre.” He hung up and rubbed his eyes. 

He should probably move to the bed, get another blanket at least, but the couch is comfortable and while Enjolras currently cutting off circulation to his arm isn’t, he can’t bring himself to move so he falls asleep with his Icarus, blond curls mingling with black, and he knows he’ll have to play Daedalus in the morning, picking up all the broken pieces and trying to put the light back into those blue eyes that once held the power to make even a cynic believe, but for now he’d take comfort in the fact that Enjolras was back and honestly smelled like shit but he was here and for the first time in those three years, Grantaire felt alive.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in like 2 hours without a beta so sorry if it was a little rough.
> 
> Comments are always welcome and my tumblr is lesbianqueenofhighgarden


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